


Soon You’ll Get Better

by octothorpetopus



Series: Lover [4]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Boys In Love, Broken Bones, Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Canonical Character Death, Domestic Fluff, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, Flashbacks, Hospitalization, IT (2017)-compliant, M/M, POV Eddie Kaspbrak, Sad, Sad Richie Tozier, Time Skips, also angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-10-04 00:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20462381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octothorpetopus/pseuds/octothorpetopus
Summary: At the age of 13, Eddie Kaspbrak breaks his arm and spends two days in the hospital.At the age of 40, Eddie Kaspbrak breaks his arm in a fight with his childhood bully.At the age of 40, Eddie Kaspbrak lays dying in the sewers of his hometown.At all of these moments, Richie Tozier is there.





	Soon You’ll Get Better

As Eddie lays dying in a pool of his own blood, he suddenly realizes that his broken arm doesn't hurt anymore. It's gone, of course, ripped from his body by a beast with no name, but it doesn't hurt anymore. He can't remember the last time it didn't hurt. Even in these last 27 years since it was last broken, there have been phantom twinges, reminders of a childhood better left forgotten. He is on the ground with his head in Beverly's lap. She is stroking his hair in the way his mother used to when he got sick, except he hated it when his mother did it and now he couldn't imagine a better feeling.

The pain is nothing until he hears a scream from across the cavern. It is his name, but it breaks in the middle as Richie's eyes widen, his body going rigid with shock. That's funny, Eddie thinks. I'm the one whose arm got eaten. I should be the one going into shock.

He is, of course, but he does not realize it until it's too late, and he slips away, Richie sprinting towards him the last thing he sees before his vision goes white.

He is still lying on the floor, but it is a different floor entirely. Dust covers the splintered wooden boards of 29 Neibolt Street, and a 13-year-old Eddie is sprawled on it, surrounded by his friends. Richie is kneeling beside him clutching his face.

_"LOOK AT ME!" _He is screaming. He doesn't seem to be able to say anything else. Eddie's arm is no longer bent at an awkward angle, but it hurts so much he thinks he might pass out. He almost does, but then he sees Richie, still screaming, his voice hoarse now, the tears in his wide blue eyes made obvious through his fishbowl glasses. Ben, Mike, and Stan are in the corner of Eddie's vision, and he thinks Ben might be hurt even worse than he is. But that doesn't matter to Richie, who looks as though he might break Eddie's other arm for how tightly he's squeezing it.

And then Beverly is pulling him to his feet, her arm slung around his waist in a gesture that has become familiar in these past few weeks. Richie clings to his shoulder, as if letting go would kill him. They are racing out of the house, Bill and Bev and Richie all surrounding Eddie in a tight circle. The tears cut tracks in the dirt and grime on his face. He can't help but cry.

He is lying in a bed. A hospital bed. The air smells like lemon window cleaner and rubbing alcohol, a familiar smell for a boy who spends much of his time in the doctor's office. His mother was there earlier, he remembers vaguely, but she had to get to work, so he is alone now. A nurse came by ten minutes ago with a cup of lime Jell-O and to refill his water pitcher. The television in the corner is broken and will not play anything except for baseball, although Eddie quite likes baseball, so he doesn't mind. His head snaps away from the game, cracking his neck, when he hears a knock on the open door.

"Hey, Eds." He gives Richie a tired smile.

"Don't call me that. Also, my mother'll kill you if she finds out you were here."

"That's why she won't." Richie winks and sits in the chair next to the bed. His smile is bright and goofy, but there are bags under his eyes. He's as tired as Eddie is. As he and Eddie stare at each other, his face grows somber. "I'm real sorry, Eddie."

"I know."

"I'm serious. We're all sorry. Maybe if we'd gotten to you faster, you wouldn't have- or you wouldn't have been alone when- or maybe-"

"Richie." Eddie places a hand, his good hand, on Richie's arm. "It's not your fault. Not totally, anyway." He turns and coughs, wheezing slightly on the inhale.

"Shit! That reminds me." Richie reaches into his back pocket and pulls out Eddie's aspirator. "You dropped this when you... y'know."

"Thanks, Rich," Eddie says, brightening. He shoots the aspirator into his mouth once and nudges the plastic cup of Jello-O on the table towards Richie. "Here."

"Come on, Eds, I can't take your Jell-O."

"Chill out. It's lime. I hate lime." Eddie loves lime, in fact. But so does Richie, and right now, despite being the one in the hospital bed, Eddie gets the feeling Richie needs it more than he does. With a little more insistence that what happened was not his fault, Richie takes the Jell-O and shoves a spoonful into his mouth. He and Eddie watch baseball together for awhile, until it's almost time for Eddie's mom to return from work. Despite the awful feeling that his terrors are far from over, Eddie can't believe that just yesterday, he was having the worst experience of his short life. Maybe, just maybe, it will have been worth it. If it leads to more moments like this, that is.

Now Eddie is himself again, hardly a few hours earlier, and he is laying on the bed in his hotel room. Henry Bowers's body is on the floor a few feet away, covered in a sheet. The others swarm around him, arguing in hushed tones. The only one who is silent is Richie, as ironic as that may seem. He is silently staring down at Eddie, and in a moment of lucidity, Eddie realizes that Richie is thinking about that day on Neibolt Street. Wordlessly, Richie crosses the room and removes the tilt wand from the blinds. He slams it across his knee, breaking it in two, with no hesitation.

"Sorry, Eds, this is gonna hurt. Just _look at me."_ Eddie looks right into Richie's eyes and breathes deeply. Richie smells like coffee and sweat and damp earth. Richie takes his arm in two places, braces himself, and then pushes the bone into place with a loud _crack _that silences all other conversations. Eddie whimpers but does not scream, but tears begin to roll out of the corners of his eyes. Richie takes off the Hawaiian shirt he's wearing over his T-shirt and tears it into strips. He splints the broken pieces of the tilt wand against Eddie's arm, jolting it just enough to make Eddie cry out in pain. "Sorry, sorry," he murmurs as he ties the strips of his shirt around the two plastic pieces. It's not bad, as far as makeshift casts go. He takes another piece of his shirt and ties it in a big loop before draping it over Eddie's head, his fingertips brushing the nape of Eddie's neck. It's a sling, and again, not half bad.

"Thank you," Eddie says, and he means it.

"Anytime."

These memories flash by Eddie for what seems like hours. It is only a matter of seconds. When he comes to, Richie and the others are at his side. Beverly is still cradling his head, brushing his hair off of his sweat-plastered forehead. In the back of his throat, he tastes lime Jell-O. Richie is holding his remaining hand, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he kneels next to Eddie. Eddie can feel the blood rushing out of him, the flood slowing a little. Shapes swarm in front of his eyes. Richie is the most clear, although Eddie is seeing him in quadruple. His glasses are broken and dirty and splattered with sewer water and tears. Eddie tears his fingers from Richie's and reaches up to brush them against his cheek, wiping away the tears that have mixed with the grime and stubble on his face.

"Look at me," Richie whispers, his breathing shaky, his voice almost inaudible.

"Always," Eddie responds, and Richie takes his hand again, squeezing it against his cheek. "I'll... be fine... don't... worry..." Eddie's hand goes limp. His eyes, usually sharp and clear go hazy and unfocused. His arm sags, but Richie does not let go. He squeezes it harder, nearly hyperventilating now.

"Come on, Eds, look at me, come on, look at me, _look at me, Eds, LOOK AT ME!" _Eddie's eyes are fixed on a point just beyond Richie. They will always be fixed there.

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to do a full Lover series, and this was an idea I've been toying with for awhile. I hope you enjoyed it, as sad as it is, and keep an eye out for the next installment! As usual, I always read and appreciate any comments and feedback you have, so leave a comment/kudos below. Thanks for reading! -C


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